


Case in Point

by dracoqueen22



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Tactile, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, having Sunstreaker for a twin can be exhausting. In a good way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Case in Point

It was a brilliant plan. Perfectly executed. Perfectly timed. It was a prank to top all pranks.  
  
It also was not Sideswipe's idea. Because if it had been, he would have chosen a much safer target. To be fair, he doesn't think that the intended target and the actual victim are one and the same.   
  
“Sunny,” Sideswipe croons, attempting to soothe and blocking his furious twin from trying to mangle Jazz. “It suits you. It does.”   
  
“I'm going to kill him,” Sunstreaker snarls, though it's hard to take him seriously.   
  
Every movement, every little twitch, causes Sunstreaker's frame to sparkle in the overhead lighting. His once pristine plating has been coated in heavy doses of sticky, sparkly glitter. Tacky, garish _orange_ glitter.   
  
Sideswipe's hands land on his brother's chestplate, simultaneously pushing Sunstreaker back a pace and getting his own fingers covered in the glittery gunk. Eww. “No. No, you're not. Remember? Attacking the superior officers is _bad_.”  
  
Sunstreaker's gaze deviates, directing a glare down at his twin. “I'm not a sparkling!”   
  
“You're acting like one!” Sideswipe accuses and pushes Sunstreaker back another pace. “It was just a prank!”  
  
They are attracting a rather sizable crowd. If Sunny had just taken the prank in stride, less mechs would've been witness to his humiliation. But that's Sunny for ya. Always making a scene. Big ole drama bot.   
  
“He. Ruined. My. Finish.”   
  
“No,” Sideswipe corrects, a little frantically he might add. He really doesn't want to spend another week in the brig. It's boring in there and no one sulks like Sunstreaker sulks. “He... accented it. Made it better!” He beams brightly. Fakely.   
  
Sunstreaker growls, his attention briefly diverted to Sideswipe.   
  
Jazz wisely takes that opportunity to duck out of the rec room. Smart mech. Though it would be interesting to see Sunstreaker and Jazz duke it out. Sideswipe's not entirely sure which of them would emerge victorious. Sunstreaker's mean, but Jazz's crafty.   
  
“It's hideous,” Sunstreaker says, and his tone is absurdly close to petulant. He shakes an arm, loose glitter raining down. “And cheap.”   
  
Shifting into a sulk? Time for a different approach.   
  
Sideswipe's fingers stroke softly down the hood that doubles as his brother's chestplate. “Then let me help you wash it off. I'll even throw in a wax 'cause I'm generous like that. What do you say?” He purrs at Sunstreaker. There are very few who can resist the Sidester when he's on the prowl. Heh. Prowl.   
  
Now that was a good night.   
  
But back to the matter at hand.   
  
Sunstreaker, at least, is deflating from his righteous anger. He huffs, giving Sideswipe a suspicious look, who returns it with a blinding smile. “A detailing,” Sunstreaker argues.   
  
“Sure, Sunny. Whatever you want.” Sideswipe's fingers run gently over Sunstreaker's chestplate, feeling the thrum of a powerful engine underneath. “Just... stop with the homicidal look. You're scaring the minibots!”   
  
“Is not!” A voice blusters from somewhere in the audience. Sideswipe thinks it was Brawn.   
  
He flicks one hand in the direction of the voice, giving them a warning look. Don't draw the attention of the hunter, idiots. Sheesh.   
  
Sunstreaker draws up, all puffed with indignation, before whirling on a pede and stalking from the rec room. “Fine!” he declares, in a snit.   
  
Phew. Crisis averted.   
  
Sideswipe doesn't bother to hide a show of relief. He flicks his hands at the gathered crowd, who are trapped between amusement, interest, and annoyance. “Nothing to see here. Get on with your lives, folks,” he says before making his departure from the rec room, too. He can hear the buzz of conversation begin almost immediately. The whole crew is a bunch of a gossip mongers.   
  
He has to sprint to catch up to Sunstreaker, though, as the huffy daffodil has stalked his way down the halls at a fast clip.   
  
“It was just a prank,” Sideswipe says as he finally catches up to Sunstreaker. “And for what it's worth, I don't think you were the intended target.” No mech in their right mind would ever target Sunstreaker.   
  
Sunstreaker gives Sideswipe a dirty look. That excuse is just not going to fly with him. Ah, well, Sideswipe tried.   
  
Luckily, the washracks come into view. Double luckily, they are deserted. Perfect.   
  
Sunstreaker goes in first, eager to get clean. Sideswipe follows after. He doesn't bother locking the door, but he does shut it.  
  
Water and solvent come on with a loud splash. Sideswipe retrieves a clean cloth and carefully approaches his touchy twin. Sunstreaker has his back to him, still grumbling subvocally to himself as sudsy solvent sloughs the sticky orange glitter off his frame.   
  
One optic glares at Sideswipe over a glitter-streaked shoulder. “Well?” Sunstreaker prompts.   
  
“Coming, oh pouting one,” Sideswipe quips, waving the chamois in the air.   
  
He keeps his sarcastic comments to a minimum as he starts to soap up and scrub down his brother's glittery frame. Sunstreaker isn't so much as helping, content to stand under the spray and let Sideswipe do all the work. At least he's quiet and not griping anymore.   
  
It's kind of soothing, in a way. The slow slide of the cloth over usually pristine armor. The patter of the spray. The hum and click of their systems. The harried ex-vents.   
  
Oh? What's this?  
  
Sideswipe grins, noticing that Sunstreaker has started to relax under his touch. Hydraulics easing, tension slipping away, anger in his energy field reduced to a low simmer which Sideswipe is pretty sure Sunstreaker operates on anyway.   
  
More than that, however, is the very obvious shift from irritated to aroused. Ah, Sunstreaker. Always mercurial in his moods. Sideswipe loves him anyway.   
  
He smirks. What better way to chase away the rest of Sunstreaker's irritation?   
  
Sideswipe shifts his motions, making every sweep of the cloth more deliberate. He swipes it over Sunny's dorsal armor, letting the fingers of his free hand follow in the cloth's wake. Tracing over seams, dipping between them, caressing wires.   
  
A shiver wracks Sunstreaker from helm to pede, his plating loosening in obvious relaxation.   
  
“I take it you like?” Sideswipe purrs, and presses his frame against his twin's, arms encircling Sunstreaker.   
  
One hand continues a deliberate exploration. The other bearing the cloth continues to stroke and clean, sweeping over a broad chestplate and down across the span of Sunstreaker's pelvic armor. His twin shivers in his arms, a low groan escaping him.   
  
Sideswipe's grin widens. “Oh, yeah, you like.” He revs his engines, letting the vibrations travel through him and into Sunstreaker. He can feel arousal swelling in his twin, heavily pulsing in his energy field and coursing over Sideswipe, inviting his own.   
  
“Sideswipe,” Sunstreaker growls, his palms slapping against the wall of the racks, fingers digging into the metal. “Don't you dare be a tease.”   
  
“Wouldn't dream of it,” Sideswipe replies truthfully, and curls his arms around his twin, holding himself tightly against Sunstreaker. He doesn't move, however, knowing better than to leave paint streaks on an already touchy Sunny.   
  
So he just pulses with his spark, hard and fast, letting the energy wash out of him and bombard Sunstreaker. Hot waves of lust and need spike in his field, easily mingling with Sunstreaker's and amping up the sensation.   
  
A shiver wracks Sunstreaker's frame, fingers scraping curls of metal out of the wall as he moans. The sound echoes in the washracks, bouncing back to Sideswipe's audials. Oooh. Sexy.   
  
Sideswipe grins and his spark sends out a rolling wave of pleasure, each slap of energy stronger than the one before it, giving Sunstreaker no room to recover. Sunny's plating rattles, his moan turning into a needy keen that makes Sideswipe's own frame heat up. Electricity dances across Sideswipe's plating, latching onto Sunstreaker's as well.   
  
That's nice. Very nice. Sideswipe purrs, his hands clutching at Sunstreaker's chassis, fingers dipping into seams and tugging on sensitized wires. The water from the racks pours down over them, the sharp staccato pinging on their armor, teasing the sensors beneath.   
  
“ _More_ ,” Sunstreaker growls, his ventilations loud and echoing in the washracks.   
  
He arches back against Sideswipe, their armor colliding with a teasing scrape sure to transfer paint. Sideswipe bites back a wince. This is going to come back to frag him with a screwdriver, he's sure of it. Pointing out that it was Sunstreaker's fault in the first place never works as an excuse either.   
  
Still...   
  
“Could use a little help here,” Sideswipe retorts, and leans forward, mouthplates coming in reach of Sunstreaker's neck cabling. His denta scrape a harsh path.   
  
A wordless growl leaves Sunstreaker's mouth. One hand slams against the wall, harder, while the other reaches back, grabs Sideswipe's hips. He intakes sharply as black-plated fingers dip straight into a gap in his armor, grabbing a heavy bundle of motion cables and pulling.   
  
Sideswipe yelps, pain-pleasure intertwining, his energy field spiking sharply. Heat coils inside of him, electricity crawling across his plating, snapping in the air. The smell of charged circuits joins the scent of the soap, teasing his olfactory sensors. He's so close he can taste it; Sunstreaker can't be any better.   
  
Not with the way he's writhing in Sideswipe's arms, the way his fingers scrape against the wall of the racks, the heated bursts of his ex-vents.   
  
Sideswipe pulses his spark out again, hard and heavy, a continuous rolling that leaves no room for the next exvent much less a processing circuit. The pleasure seems to throb through him, from his pedes to his helms, and he gasps. His frame locks into place, static teasing at his circuits, as he feels the pleasure bombard Sunstreaker with no mercy.   
  
Sunstreaker's fist pounds the wall, leaving a sizeable dent as he howls, frame rattling in the wake of his overload. Sideswipe's reduced to a pitiful whimper as he's pulled into it with his twin, optics fritzing from the force of the overcharge.   
  
Sunstreaker sags; Sideswipe can't spare the effort to catch him. Both of them slide to the floor, water still pattering down on their armor, their cooling fans a loud whirr in the washracks.   
  
Well, that's one way to work off your irritation.   
  
Sideswipe leans his helm against Sunstreaker's dorsal armor, wanting nothing more than to slip into recharge. Sometimes, having Sunstreaker for a twin is just plain exhausting.   
  
Sunstreaker stirs, tilting his head back to rest it on Sideswipe's shoulder, optics rolling toward his twin. “You still owe me a polish,” he grumbles.   
  
Yeah. _Exhausting_.   
  
Sideswipe rolls his optics and trails a hand down Sunstreaker's chassis. “Only if you're up for round two,” he retorts.   
  
Sunstreaker's low chuckle echoes in the washracks. Agreement. Right then.   
  
Round two.   
  
****


End file.
